The Mysterious Island. Jules Verne

finally closed his eyes in slumber, since a seaman’s life had accustomed him to such violent weather. Gideon Spilett alone was kept wide awake by his worries. He reproached himself for not having accompanied Neb. One could see that he too had not abandoned all hope and that he shared Harbert’s premonitions. His thoughts were concentrated on Neb. Why had Neb not returned? He tossed on his bed of sand hardly giving a thought to the battle of the elements. At times his eyes, heavy with fatigue, closed for an instant but some passing thought reopened them at once. The night advanced, however, and it must have been two o’clock in the morning when Pencroff, then in a deep sleep, was shaken vigorously.

      “What is it?” he shouted, awakening and recollecting himself with the rapidity typical of seamen.

      The reporter was leaning over him and said to him:

      “Listen Pencroff, listen!”

      The sailor cocked his ear but could not distinguish any sound other than the squall.

      “It’s the wind,” he said.

      “No,” replied Gideon Spilett, listening again. “I thought I heard …”

      “What?”

      “A dog barking!”

      “A dog!” shouted Pencroff, getting up in a single bound.

      “Yes … barking …”

      “That isn’t possible!” replied the sailor. “And besides, how with the roar of the storm …”

      “Wait … Listen …” said the reporter.

      Pencroff listened more attentively and in fact he thought he heard a distant barking in a quiet moment.

      “Well? …” said the reporter, pressing the sailor’s hand.

      “Yes … Yes! …” replied Pencroff.

      “It’s Top! … It’s Top! …” shouted Harbert, just awakening, and all three dashed toward the entrance to the Chimneys.

      They went outside with extreme difficulty. The wind drove them back. They finally succeeded, although they could not stand erect without leaning against the rocks. They saw but they could not speak.

      The darkness was absolute. The sea, the sky, the ground were merged in equal darkness. It seemed that there was not an atom of light in the sky.

      For several minutes the reporter and his two companions remained so, crushed by the storm, drenched by the rain, blinded by the sand. They heard the barking once again during a break in the storm, which came from far away. It could only be Top barking in this manner! But was he alone or with someone? Most likely he was alone because if Neb was with him, Neb would have rushed back toward the Chimneys.

      Since he could not make himself heard, the sailor pressed the hand of the reporter as if to say: “Wait!” He re-entered the corridor.

      An instant later he came out again with a lighted torch which lit up the gloom. He whistled sharply. This signal seemed expected. In response, the barking came much nearer and soon a dog dashed into the corridor. Pencroff, Harbert and Gideon Spilett followed him inside.

      An armful of dry wood was thrown on the embers. A vivid flame lit up the corridor.

      “It’s Top!” shouted Harbert.

      It was indeed Top, a magnificent anglo-norman crossbreed who inherited from these two species both speed and odor sensitivity, the two prime qualities of a hunting dog.

      It was Cyrus Smith’s dog.

      But he was alone! Neither his master nor Neb was with him!

       This signal seemed expected.

      How had his instinct been able to lead him to the Chimneys which he knew nothing about? This appeared inexplicable, especially on such a dark night, and in such a storm! An even more inexplicable detail was that Top was neither tired nor exhausted, not even soiled with mud or sand! …

      Harbert approached him and took his head between his hands. The dog allowed him to do so and began rubbing his neck on the boy’s hands.

      “If the dog has been found, the master will also be found!” said the reporter.

      “May God will it!” replied Harbert. “Let’s leave! Top will guide us!”

      Pencroff made no objection. He felt that Top’s arrival contradicted his earlier suppositions.

      “Let’s go,” he said.

      Pencroff carefully covered the embers of the fire. He placed several pieces of wood under the cinders so that the fire could be rekindled on their return. Then, preceded by the dog who seemed to invite them with crisp barks, and followed by the reporter and the lad, he dashed outside bringing along the remains of the supper.

      The storm was at full strength and perhaps even at its maximum intensity. No moonlight filtered through the clouds since the moon was then new and in conjunction with the sun. It was difficult to follow a straight course. It was best to rely on Top’s instinct and they did so. The reporter and the boy followed behind the dog, and the sailor brought up the rear. They exchanged no words. The rain was not heavy but it was driven by blasts of wind. The storm was terrible.

      One circumstance fortunately favored the sailor and his two companions. The wind blew from the southeast, and consequently it pushed them from behind. The sand which was violently thrown about and which would have been unbearable, struck them from the rear, and as long as no one turned around, it did not interfere with their journey. In fact, they often went faster than they wanted to and this affected their walk almost to the point of making them stumble. But an immense hope doubled their efforts, for this time they did not move randomly along the shore. They had no doubt that Neb had found his master and had sent the faithful dog to them. But was the engineer alive, or was Neb only summoning his companions to render the last rites to the body of the unfortunate Smith?

      After passing by the smooth face of the cliff which they carefully side-stepped, Harbert, the reporter and Pencroff stopped to catch their breath. The angle of the cliff sheltered them from the wind, and they caught their breath after this march of a quarter of an hour which had been something of a race.

      They could now hear and speak to one another. The lad pronounced the name of Cyrus Smith. Top gave a few short barks as if he wanted to say that his master was rescued.

      “Saved, is he?” repeated Harbert, “Saved, Top?”

      And the dog barked as if in response.

      The march was resumed. It was about half past two in the morning. The sea began to rise and, driven by the wind, the tide threatened to be very high. Large waves boomed against the edge of the reef and assailed it with such violence that they would very likely sweep over the islet, then completely invisible. This long breakwater would no longer protect the coast which was directly exposed to the onslaught of the open sea.

      As soon as the sailor and his companions left the edge of the cliff, the wind struck them anew with extreme fury. Bent and straining their backs against the gusts of wind, they quickly followed Top who did not hesitate in his direction. They went north. On their right was an interminable crest of waves which broke with a deafening roar, and on their left a dark landscape it was impossible to make out. But they sensed that it was relatively flat because the wind now passed above them without being driven back as it had when it struck the face of the granite cliff.

      At four o’clock in the morning, they estimated that a distance of five miles had been covered. The clouds were slightly higher and no longer at ground level. The wind, less humid, moving in very brisk currents, was drier and colder. Insufficiently protected by their clothing, Pencroff, Harbert, and Gideon Spilett must have suffered cruelly, but not a complaint escaped their lips. They had decided to follow Top wherever the intelligent animal wanted to lead them.

      About five o’clock, day began